Enough To Make You Blue

     I used to have a friend named Benny. We ran in the same circles for a while. Eventually, all of the dizziness caught up to us, so then we just pain ’ol hung out. We’d watch wrestling on the TV on the cold winter days… We’d go down to the town water-hole and steal everyone’s clothes on the hot summer days… And cold or hot, we’d shoot alot of pool; we shot alot of cats too, and that was always just as fun. We spent all of our time together. We were the best of friends; so it was only a matter of time until I wondered the wonder that would make me wonder about Benny for years.

     It was not until the eighth year of our friendship that I noticed something strange about him…. It may seem trivial. It may seem petty. But it’s my story and I’m sticking to it—pun intended.. Benny NEVER wore the color blue. Now I’m not counting socks.. I’m not counting shoes or jeans. Everyone—even Benny—wore blue jeans. I’m not talking about belts, hats or gloves. And I’m definitely not speaking of his under-garments. Oh yeah, and jackets neither… I’m talking about his shirts.

     Now I’d never seen anyone with shirts like Benny. He wore green shirts, red shirts, orange shirts, and yellow shirts. He had shirts that were brown, black, gray, white, maroon, and pink. I saw some that were gold, tan, silver, beige, magenta, and even a transparent one.. But I never—ever—ever saw him wear a blue t-shirt.

     It’s not a big deal. It’s not important. It’s not gonna change the world. But there’s no denying the fact that it was weird. Many a night did I lay awake wondering of this wonder that made me wonder about Benny.. Was there a reason? Was he aware? Had he been hurt by the color blue in the past? And if so—would he ever be able to forgive? These things—I needed to know.

     So one day I went looking for Benny.. I had gone over to his house and his mother said that he wasn’t home.. That’s why I was now looking for him—in case you thought that maybe he was just hiding from me, or something.. Anyway, I went down 10^th street… Nothing… 9^th… Nothing… 8^th… Nothing… 7^th… Nothing… 4^th—then I wondered what the heck happened to 5^th and 6^th street, but that’s a whole other story…. Anyway… I went back again—all the way to 10^th street—and started over… Benny had been there all along. I must have blinked or something when I’d looked his way the first time. He was a sight to see.

     He stood there in the wind, looking like a.. well.. let’s say Smerff.. A white-chested Smerff anyway.. He bore a blue hat, coat, and belt. Not to be missing were his blue shoes and jeans. He had blue socks pulled up over the bottom of his jeans (for warmth).. His matching, blue gloves set in place; and it’s not my thing to think much of a pal’s underwear, but I’m sure we could all assume that they were blue as well.. Then… just as much as Hitler would stick out at a bar mitzvah.. was his incredibly white and spotless t-shirt.

     I hung my head for Benny.. It was a sad day.. Benny was sick… He was in need of help.. Why did he so blatantly refuse to wear blue t-shirts?.. I intended to do everything in my power to find out… Well… as it turned out.. I had absolutely no power… I was a twelve-year-old kid.. Then I remembered that even though occasionally someone in a position of power uses that phrase, it’s—for the most part—simply a figure of speech.. So I declared it to myself again, and then proceeded to treat myself to a victory burger…. The burger was actually from The Artery Clog House on North Humphrey Street, but I was meaning that I treated myself to a burger because I was feeling victorious…. I felt like a big man.. A big twelve-year-old man….

To be continued……….

Vincent J. Vera